


A Case For Optimism

by gallifreyslostson



Series: What Happens in Vegas [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strangers in a bar AU:</p><p>When Edward tries to take the edge of his anxiety in a hotel bar, he meets a woman who gives him some…very different opportunities for stress relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Edward sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth against the burn of the bourbon searing its way down his throat. He's nervous; he won't admit it on pain of death, but it's there, somewhere in the back of his mind, the dark panic about what the following day will bring. It wouldn't be so bad if he knew something about the woman beyond her slightly intimidating reputation in the business world. All he'd been able to glean is that she's hell on heels and immune to charm, which he's always relied on rather heavily. It makes the whole thing far more complicated than he'd prefer, in addition to being in unfamiliar territory.

He drains the last of his bourbon, hesitating for only a second before ordering another. He can't afford a hangover in the morning, but his anxiety won't pardon sobriety at the moment either.

He glances up when his peripheral vision picks up someone else entering the bar, and catches sight of a gorgeous blonde approaching the bar, heels clicking. He looks her over surreptitiously--he can't help it. Black sleeveless dress with a modest collar, but clearly high end, given the way it's cut to hug her curves just right. Not too short, ending just above her knee, but revealing toned legs that end in expensive but not ostentatious black heels a good three inches high. Everything about her screams understated money and confidence, a welcome change to the tacky gleam he's seen on everyone else in Las Vegas.

She slides into a seat not far from him, and he tears his eyes from her when she glances at him, looking down at his drink suspiciously. Maybe the second drink was a bad idea after all.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks her.

"Something strong without ice," she says, her voice tired, and he glances up again in surprise at the London accent.

"That could be a lot of things," the bartender points out. "You wanna be a little more specific?"

She glances around with a disgruntled noise, then catches sight of Edward and nods at his drink. "What're you having?"

"Bourbon, neat," he answers, perplexed.

"Sounds good," she says, turning back to the bartender. "I'll take that, thanks."

"Coming right up, doll," he says, flashing a grin, and Edward smirks at the raised eyebrow she gives as he turns away for a glass.

"You're a long way from home," he remarks once her drink has been served.

"Not exactly a local boy yourself," she replies after a sip of bourbon.

He gives her a non-committal hum. It's been ten years since he relocated from London to New York, three since his move from New York to LA, but that's neither here nor there.  "Business or pleasure?" he asks instead.

"Business," she tells him.

"Me too. Pity."

"Is it?" she asks, nonplussed.

"Mmm, I think so," he says. "Look outside right now, you'd be bound to find any number of people positively gorging on the shear life force found in this city, 24/7. Which of course, is exactly what gives it such life to begin with. Were you aware, for example, that the casinos here have no windows, no clocks, and constantly pump fresh, cool air into the pit, so that gamblers aren't even aware of the hours passing them by. And do you know why?"

"I'm going to say... To make money," she says with a small smile, crossing her legs as she turns to him more fully.

"Well, yes, of course," he admits. "But that's the obvious answer, the effect of the darker cause which is that people are willing to subject themselves to this, to lose themselves completely to the atmosphere, to chain themselves to a table or machine that they're certain is hot and will make it all worthwhile, giving rise to the very vehicle of their destruction. There's this eternal optimism that's ingrained in the human condition, keeping them chasing the big score they're _sure_ will be right around the corner, even as they lose their shirt."

"Right," she says slowly, then nods at the now empty tumbler that he's been sipping absently throughout his diatribe. "How many of those have you had?"

"Not enough, clearly," he says, eyeing his glass balefully. He hesitates again, glancing at his watch, then shrugs and raises a hand for another. It's still early, and he's only now starting to feel the tension begin to seep out of his muscles. He's also rather reluctant to leave the company of the pretty blonde eyeing him speculatively.

She opens her mouth to form a question, but is cut off by a rather rowdy group of revelers choosing that moment to trespass on the quiet sanctity of the hotel bar.  They both turn to watch them enter, some eight people who manage to sound like eighty, but Edward cuts his eyes to her as she turns back to him.  He glances around, then inclines his head toward a fairly private table toward the back, a decent distance away from the oppressive frivolity.  She hesitates a moment, then nods, ordering another drink for herself before following him.

"You're not an optimist, I take it?" she asks as they slide into the booth against the wall.

"I very much am," he answers, watching as she pushes the table away slightly to sit sideways, her elbow resting against the back of the booth and supporting her head. "However, I'm also plagued by a certain amount of realism which allows me to see the machine for what it is. Which is why I'm here for business, and not pleasure."

"Of course," she says with a grin. "So what keeps you optimistic, then?"

"The fact that mankind will continue to be optimistic, despite all evidence to the contrary," he replies, raising his glass.

Her tongue pokes out a little from her teeth, changing a stunning smile into an adorably cheeky grin as she clinks her glass against his. "Realism must be such a burden," she teases.

"You have no idea," he says. He considers her for a moment, then looks down at his drink, debating the wisdom of chatting up a random woman in a hotel bar. It's not really something he does, or ever should do...which gives him a fascinating notion, but one that would probably mark him as a complete lunatic in her eyes.  He looks up at her again, alarmed when he finds her twisting out of her stool to leave.  _What the hell?_ “What if I weren’t?”

She gives him a confused look, brow furrowed.  “Sorry?”

“What if I were...unfettered by this pesky realism?” he asks.

“Then you’d be gorging on life, I expect,” she says, giving him a small smile.  “Like that lot.”

“Mmm… yes, I expect so,” he agrees, shooting another look at the crowd.  He takes another long drink to steel his nerves before looking back at her.  “But what if, just for a night, we could leave that bit behind, give in to the stunning optimism of the general population?”  Her eyebrow raises in question, but she doesn’t actually _leave_ , giving his insane plan momentum.  “Give me a name.  Not your name, the name of the person you’d be were you here for pleasure and not business.  The person who has no real agenda than to take in the life seeping from every corner of this town.”

She hesitates, narrowing her eyes a little, and he can practically hear the gears turning in her head, the questions being raised.  Her mouth opens the slightest bit as she considers him, and her tongue moving thoughtfully over her teeth draws his eyes there like a magnet.  “Belle,” she says finally, and his gaze snaps back to hers, slightly stunned.

“Fitting,” he manages, taking another drink when he hears the rough sound of his own voice.

“And you?” she asks.  “And please don’t say John, I’ll feel like a call girl,” she adds, rolling her eyes and laughing a little.

“Alright then,” he replies, flashing a grin.  “How’s Mark?”

“Mark works,” she agrees, nodding a little.  “So… what would Belle and Mark be doing tonight then?”

Edward glances around, leaning back to stretch an arm along the back of the booth.  An amateur move, but an effective one nonetheless.  “Well… anything, really.  We could get drunk until we’re sick, though I suppose the employers of our other selves would be less than happy with this decision when we return to our real lives in the morning.”

“Probably not the best idea, that,” she says, making a face.

“Or we could gamble and lose our shirts,” he suggests, tilting his head a little.  “An interesting idea, but one that loses flavor at the thought of dealing with the bill later.”

“Suppose that’s true,” she says slowly, her gaze losing focus somewhat, and he clears his throat, trying to banish the other thoughts that come unbidden to his mind at the phrase “losing our shirts.”

“I suppose we could take in a show,” he ponders.

“I could throw my knickers at Tom Jones,” she says with a grin, and he smiles back.

“That you could!”  He shrugs a little.  “Fairly benign though.  Not exactly the pleasure gluttony suited to Mark and Belle.”

“Suppose not.”  She casts a thoughtful look over the bar for a moment, then cuts her eyes to him again in a sideways glance.  “Or…”

“Or?”

She bites her lip a moment, and he’s filled with a heady anticipation before she leans forward, one hand going to his cheek as she presses her lips to his.  His arguably quick mind freezes completely for an instant, then works double time to catch up, ordering the hand on the booth to the back of her head when she starts to pull away, and marshalling his lips into a counter attack, calling in his tongue for a precision strike against the seam of her lips, following up with invasion details.

They’re both slightly breathless when he finally releases her, her already full and inviting lips slightly swollen from his assault, making them all the more attractive.  Edward swallows hard, dragging his eyes back up to hers.

“I like your or,” he remarks, with far more calm than he feels.  She grins at him, her tongue making another appearance between her teeth, and he lets out a sound embarrassingly akin to a growl as he pulls her close again.  She enters the battle with a staggering amount of enthusiasm, chasing his tongue back into his mouth when he retreats, raising her hands to spear her fingers through his hair as she swings a shapely leg over his hips.  He has the briefest passing regard for the other patrons before the rest of his mind tells his regards to sod off, allowing him the freedom to drop his hand to her waist and smoothing it over the fabric of her dress in its travel to the small of her back.  His other hand finds its way to her thigh, finding only smooth skin due to her positioning and the wonderful, miraculous ways that physics has of pulling fabric up when legs move a certain way.  His grip tightens slightly, and she lets out a small moan, rolling her hips gently and scattering his thoughts to the four winds.

He manages to break away after another moment, looking up at her hooded eyes.  He tries valiantly to catch his breath and force the blood flow in his body back to his brain instead of the other, quickly swelling portions of his anatomy.  His eyes slide closed when her nails scratch a little against his scalp, inexplicably derailing this effort, and he coughs a little in an attempt to regain his senses.

“As...incredibly pleasurable as this is, and far more intoxicating than any amount of bourbon,” he says slowly.  “Perhaps we should move to a more...private location.”

She considers him a moment.  “Your room or mine?”

“Whichever is closer,” he answers promptly--possibly a bit too promptly, given the way her smile flashes again, but he’s completely past caring.

“Fifth floor, end of the hall.”

“Third floor, two doors from the elevator,” he replies, pushing her gently to the side to stand and hold out a hand to her.  “Mine it is.”

She takes his hand, and he pulls her up toward him, nearly losing all ambition to leave when she stands so close that it would take the merest effort to be kissing her again.  Her heels give her an added height that leaves her only an inch or so shorter than himself, and for once, he’s not at all suited to complain as his eyes drop once more to her mouth.  Her lips turn up into a smile, and he sucks in a deep breath, reaching behind her for his forgotten glass and draining the last of his bourbon before guiding her away from the table.

After a brief stop at the bar to drop off his glass and order both tabs billed to his room, he pulls her toward the lift.  Nervousness at this bizarre and unplanned scenario overtakes him as they wait for doors to open, making his leg jiggle anxiously.

“So, do you do this often?” she asks, and his head snaps to her in confusion.

“Beg pardon?”

“Oh, you know, this whole...routine?” she says, waving her hand vaguely.  “Finding some woman in a bar, seducing her with talk of pleasure kicks and a night free of normal life before enticing her up to your room?”

There’s the slightest flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, enough to make his mouth fall open a little in surprise.  He shakes his head slowly, his eyes focused on hers.  “Never.”

The lift bell dings, and he turns to reach out a hand to the doors as they open, waiting in silent invitation while stepping back to give her room to leave.  The hesitant flicker of her gaze to the inside of the lift and back to him tightens his chest and nearly has him calling the whole thing off right then.

“Belle--”

The name makes her arch an eyebrow, then smile at him before taking his hand again and tugging him into the lift after her.  He barely has a chance to press the button for his floor when he finds himself pressed against the wall of the lift, her small hands on his chest as her lips once again find his.  He responds immediately, tilting his head for a better angle as he wraps his arms around her, letting one hand travel down to the curve of her bum as his tongue explores the roof of her mouth.

There’s chatting outside the lift doors when they slide open on his floor, chatter that stops immediately as the group outside notices their embrace.  Edward pulls away from her, clearing his throat as she flushes gorgeously and taking her hand to tug her from the lift.

“Lovely night, don’t you think?” he asks the group with a bright grin as he passes, and Belle giggles as he fishes his key card from his pocket and unlocks the door without letting go of her hand.

“They looked a bit uncomfortable,” she observes as he holds the door open for her.

“Positively scandalized, I’m sure,” he agrees, following her into the room and letting the door fall closed behind him.  “The question, my dear, is whether or not I care.”

“And do you?” she asks, turning back to him when he flips on the light.

“Not in the slightest.”

He steps toward her, tangling one hand in her blonde hair as he leans in to kiss her again, his other hand moving to her hip.  He can feel her hands against his stomach as he breaks the kiss to wander over her jaw and neck, smiling a little against her skin when he hears the sharp intake of breath accompanying the gentle scrape of his teeth over her pulse point.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, moving his head so his lips are brushing her ear with the words.  She shivers a little, but he disentangles his hand from her hair as she does as he asks.  He leaves his hand on her hip stationary, so that it brushes across her lower back as she turns, only to land on her opposite hip.  Bringing his free hand up, he brushes her hair aside over one shoulder and presses a kiss to the base of her neck when she reaches up to hold it there.

“Alright?” he asks, voice still low as his thumb moves in slow circles over her hip.

She gives a little nod, letting out a slow breath as he reaches both hands for her zip.  He has a momentary thought that it shouldn’t be this easy, there should be more awkward pauses, more nervousness...but perhaps not, not for Mark and Belle.

He eases her zip down slowly, watching goosebumps appear when his fingers brush her exposed skin, then reaches up again to push the straps of her dress over her shoulders and down her arms.  He leans in, trailing open mouthed kisses over her neck when she tilts her head to give him better access, careful to not leave a mark for...whoever she’ll be come morning.  He lifts her arms gently, pulling them away from the straps of her dress, before reaching around her to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her bra.  She sucks in a sharp breath when his thumb grazes over her pebbled nipple, and he moves his head up to catch her ear between his teeth, nibbling gently beside her earring.

“Mark,” she breathes, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, reaching back to grasp his thigh.  He pulls back, tilting his head to look at her when she lets her head fall to his shoulder, then letting his gaze travel down the column of her throat to her chest.  The dress clearly had done her no justice, no matter what he’d thought at first glance.  His hand leaves her breast to skim down her abdomen, so that both hands can guide her dress over her hips to pool at her feet.

He lets his hands dance over her ribs briefly before pulling back to unhook her bra, his fingers moving under the straps to ease them down her arms before tossing the flimsy material aside and reaching around her again, one hand splayed across her flat belly while the other teases her now bared nipple.  She lets out a little groan, biting her lip, and he dips his head down to trail kisses over her shoulder.

He pulls back after a moment, his hands leaving her completely as he sucks in a shuddering breath.  She turns back to look at him, arms coming up to cover herself, and he holds up both hands, index finger extended, before moving to his suitcase across the room.  He rummages around for a moment, then pulls out a box of condoms, lifting it up to show her.

“I thought you said you never do this,” she says, though her lips still twitch.

“I don’t,” he replies, pulling out a few before setting the box down again.  “However, I _do_ have friends with terrible senses of humor, and even worse taste.”

“Handy though,” she remarks as he turns back to her.

“I plan on buying them a fruit basket when I get home,” he promises, pausing to run his gaze over her.  “Possibly two.  Belle...have you _any_ idea how stunning you are?”

She flushes a little, lowering her gaze and licking her lips before capturing the bottom one between her teeth.  He steps closer, tossing the little foil packets onto the bed as he reaches up, tugging her lip from between her teeth before leaning in to kiss her.  They share soft kisses, lips meeting, massaging, then pulling apart, only to meet again at a slightly different angle.  He grasps her wrists gently, lowering her arms from chest, before dipping his head to capture one puckered peak in his mouth.  He releases one of her wrists to massage her neglected breast, tweaking her nipple in time with a nip of his teeth, and she gasps, her free hand flying to his hair as she arches into him.  Raising his head, he kisses her again gently before letting go of her wrist and walking around her again.

“You’re right,” she comments as he reaches for the buttons of his shirt.  She glances back at him as he pops the first few buttons--though without covering up this time, he notes happily--then nods at the bed where the condoms he’d grabbed are scattered.  “You are an optimist.”

He arches an eyebrow at her as he pulls the tails of his shirt from his trousers.  “You have no idea.”

He pulls the shirt over his head, then toes off his shoes before reaching for his socks and tugging them off.  She’s still looking back at him when he straightens again, and he arches his eyebrow once more.

“Don’t I get to do any of that?”

“No,” he says, stepping toward her again.  “I’m boring.  You’re a far more pleasant package to unwrap.”

“You’re not so bad,” she replies, letting her gaze travel down his chest, and his lips twitch as he steps behind her again.

“I appreciate that,” he says softly against her ear, sliding his arms around her again, his eyes drifting closed at the sensation of her back against chest.  “But I’m having entirely too good a time enjoying you for the moment.”

“Suppose I’ll have to wait, then,” she manages, before sucking in a breath as one of his hands slips between her legs, over her knickers.  His head drops to her shoulder briefly when he feels the dampness there, evidence of her arousal seeping through the thin fabric.

“And you mocked my optimism,” he says after a moment, raising his head again to press his lips to her shoulder.  She lets out a small laugh that quickly turns to a groan when his questing fingers find her clit, the sound shooting straight to his cock.  He grinds his hips against her bum once, clenching his teeth as he reflexively seeks friction.

His hands move to her hips once more, and he hooks his thumbs around the band of her knickers before crouching to tug them down her legs.  She’s trembling slightly as his hand moves to the inside of one of thighs, and he presses a kiss to the side of her hip.

“Cold?” he asks as he straightens, pulling her back against him so that she steps out of her knickers and dress.

“Not...as such,” she replies huskily as he kicks her clothes aside, and he nearly groans.  It’s like the pitch of her voice is tuned precisely to his cock, making it dance like a soprano might shatter glass.  He reaches a hand around her, heading straight for the spot that coaxed such delicious noises from her before, and is rewarded with a moan of his name on her lips.

Well.  The one he gave her, anyway.

It’s still him, still his hands on her, and his impatient cock aching to take the place of the finger he dips inside her, the finger that’s quickly joined by a fellow, both working in tandem to make her whimper.  She lifts one of her hands to bury her fingers in his hair, and he drops his lips to her shoulder once more as his thumb flicks over her clit again, nipping at her skin before soothing the spot with his tongue.  He reaches a hand back to his belt, letting out a growling curse when he fumbles.

He freezes, sucking in a long, calming breath before extricating his fingers from her warmth.  He places his hands on her hips to steady himself, drumming his fingers over her hipbones as he clears his throat.  He cuts his eyes to her when she lets out a giggle, which absolutely shouldn’t, by rights, be anywhere near as sexy as it is.

“Sure you don’t want some help?” she asks, flashing a teasing, tongue-touched grin.

“Positive,” he growls.  He steps back then, reaching for his belt, but puts a hand back on her waist when she bends to take off her shoes.  “Leave them on.”

She glances back at him with raised brows, but complies, straightening again slowly as he undoes his belt and fly.  A groan of relief escapes him as he eases his pants and trousers over his hips, freeing his hard on _finally_.  He drops the lot to the floor with a thud of his buckle and wallet, then kicks them aside as he steps forward, reaching past her for a condom.  His gaze moves over her again as he brings the foil up to his teeth to tear it open, and he licks his lips as he pulls the latex from the wrapper, tossing the latter aside.

“Lean over,” he murmurs as he rolls the condom onto his cock.  “Hold on to the bedpost.”

Her face turns toward him a little, but then she tosses her head and leans forward, spreading her legs a little keep her balance.  His head tilts a little, taking in the curve of her back and the shape of her legs as he steps forward with his hand still around himself, then lets out a small moan as the head of his cock slides through her folds.  She presses back against him, and he lets out a small chuckle before lining himself up with her entrance and pressing into her slowly, both of them letting out moans as he buries himself to the hilt.

He stills for a moment, lost in the sensation of her surrounding him.  After a moment, his hands go to her hips as he pulls out of nearly entirely before thrusting back into her hard, making her grunt with pleasure.  He sets a steady rhythm, gritting his teeth as each thrust tests his control.

“Fuck, Belle,” he rasps when she starts pressing back to meet each pump of his hips.  “Christ, you feel amazing.”

He speeds up, losing ground in the battle for coherence, and reaches around her to find her clit.  She lets out a sound, a delicious, shiver inducing sound, something caught between a whimper and a moan, tearing a guttural sound from his own throat in response.  The slap of skin against skin and their heavy breathing fills the room, and his movements become erratic as he leans forward to mutter in her ear, nonsensical things, filthy things, anything to drive her closer to the edge that he’s barrelling toward.

“Come for me,” he urges.  “I want to feel you break apart around me.  Come for me, Belle.  Come for me _now_.”

The command illicites a cry from her, and her muscles clench around him, pulsing around his cock and sending him careening over the cliff, free falling into ecstasy with a shout.  He shudders and rocks against her without any real conscious intent, his fingers slowing against her clit as their breath returns.  After a moment, he hauls her up against his chest, slipping out of her as she straightens and steadying her with an arm around her waist and a hand twined with hers.  Her head lolls back against his shoulder, and he lets out a chuckle as he leans down to kiss her shoulder.

“Bed, I think,” he murmurs, stepping away to guide her there, sitting her down before turning and tugging the condom off to drop it in the bin.  When he turns back to her, she’s resting back on her elbows, legs still dangling over the edge of the bed at the knee, and studying him with narrowed eyes.  “What?”

“You say you never do this,” she says slowly.  “But you have to know.”

“Know what, exactly?” he asks, a small smile playing on his lips as he steps toward her.

“How hot you are,” she replies, and he gives her an ambiguous hum as he picks up her leg, pressing a kiss to her knee before trailing his fingers down her calf.  He slips her shoe off, and she lets out a small moan when he starts massaging the ball of her foot.  “That’s...that’s very nice.  But that’s just it...you’re entirely too smooth, too...controlled.”

He smiles a little as his thumbs move over her arch and heel before working his way up her calf, easing the muscles still tense from her heels.  “Natural affinity.  Or, rather, natural defense.  Because I assure you, ‘controlled’ is not the word I’d use for any reaction I have to you.”

When he reaches her knee, he drops her leg and switches to the other, starting the whole process over, beginning with the kiss on her knee as he looks up at her and winks.  She snorts, rolling her eyes as she falls back on the bed.

“Definitely a charmer,” she claims, her hands resting on her stomach as she twists her head to look at him.  “You probably got away with a lot in school with that smile and wink.”

“More than I probably should have,” he admits, smiling unapologetically, and she laughs.  “But less than you’d think.  Really, Belle, it’s not as if I’m so attractive that women eagerly throw themselves at me when I enter a room.  Life would be a good deal more interesting if they did, mind.”

“Maybe you just don’t notice them,” she suggests, her eyes on his hands as they massage her foot.

“I noticed you,” he reminds her, working back up to her calf.

“Maybe you only noticed me because I wasn’t throwing myself at you,” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“From the woman who just plainly said I’m hot,” he retorts.  “And who, might I remind you, kissed _me_ at the bar.  So there goes your theory that I only noticed you as an anomaly among the sea of women eager to entice me into all sorts of debauchery.”

“You noticed me because I was the only woman there,” she says then, and he narrows his eyes as he lowers her leg.

“I might not have a harem, Belle, but I’m not so desperate as that,” he says quietly, climbing onto the bed to hover over her.  “I didn’t go to the bar with the intent of finding female companionship.  I would have done just fine on my own for the evening.  I am, however, glad that you...graciously decided to extend an offer of your company.”

He’d leaned in slowly as he spoke, pausing a few scant centimeters from her lips, and he smiles against her mouth when she arches up to kiss him.  He tilts his head a little before slipping his tongue into her mouth, moving a hand to her neck and following as she lowers her head back to the mattress.  One of her hands is on his back, her arm snaking under his, while the other grasps his bicep as his hand skims down her neck and over her chest to palm one breast, massaging gently.  He breaks away after a moment, peppering kisses along her jaw before following the path of his hand with open mouthed kisses, nipping and sucking at her breast when he reaches it.

“Mmm...isn’t it my turn to enjoy you?” she asks, sliding her arm out from under his to run her fingers through his hair.

“Not yet,” he says, moving his head to give attention to her other breast.  He looks up when she arches into him to see her eyes flutter closed as she bites her lip against a moan.  “This is far too enjoyable to give up so soon.”

He moves on, trailing kisses down her abdomen before detouring to the ridge of her hip bone, and making her gasp as he kneels before her and sets about leaving a mark in a place that will be invisible to her business associates the following day.  One of his hands wanders to the inside of her thigh, stroking lightly up and down, reaching a little higher with each pass until her hips roll beneath him.  He dips a finger through her folds, moaning against her skin when he feels her wet again for him, quickly moving his head to give her a long, slow lick that makes her groan.

He pushes two fingers inside her, pumping rhythmically, while his tongue teases her tight bundle of nerves.  Her pelvis bucks, and he winds an arm under her leg, propping it up on his shoulder as he holds her down with a hand on her hip.  He puts more pressure on her clit as his fingers curl slightly inside her, thrusting faster, and she lets out a keening sound as the grip on his hair tightens.  He groans, and nearly loses his grip on her as the vibration of his lips on her most sensitive parts makes her shatter beneath him, her fingers tightening almost painfully as she gasps through her orgasm.  He brings her down slowly, easing the pressure on her clit and slowing his fingers, until she whimpers and shies away from him.

He raises his head, licking his lips before wiping his mouth with his hand and grinning up at her.  She lets out a small chuckle, then shakes her head and groans.  Edward laughs, then moves onto the bed once more, raising a hand to smooth her hair back from her face before kissing her softly.

She narrows her eyes and tilts her head to study him as he pulls away, and he gives her a questioning look.  “You don’t give up control easily, do you?”

“Not particularly,” he admits.  “Is that a problem?”

“Possibly,” she says slowly.  “Because, you see--”  In an astonishing turn of speed, she manages to grab his wrist while swinging her leg up, flipping him and effectively pinning him to the mattress, her hips straddling his and her other hand grabbing his free wrist.  “--I don’t either.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but his words are cut off when she leans down and kisses him, her tongue sliding over his greedily as she rocks her hips against his quickly hardening cock.  His head follows hers reflexively when she breaks the kiss and pulls away, and she gives him a wicked, maddeningly sexy grin before swooping down again, this time to move her lips over his neck, and he tilts away with a shuddering breath, giving her more access as his hips buck beneath her.

She releases his wrists when she reaches his collar bone, trailing her fingers over his forearms as she moves slowly down his chest, his tongue and lips leaving a blistering trail that has him gasping in seconds.  He groans and moves his hand to her hair when he feels her take her own detour, teeth scraping against the skin of his hip before she sucks hard, doubtless leaving an identical mark that he couldn’t possibly be less concerned with.

“For the record,” she says, scooching down his legs and making him bite back a groan when she takes hold of his cock, “you are hot.  Gorgeous, really.  Very…”  Her eyes flick over him in a way that steaming and dark and, oh _fuck_ , he should give up control more often.  Her lips curve up in a smile that’s nothing short of predatory.  “Very satisfying.”

“ _Satisfying_?” he demands, his head snapping up.  “After hot and gorgeous you end with _satisf--fuck.”_

His affront is completely cut off when she lowers her head and takes his cock in her mouth, her tongue doing magical things to the underside of it that make his brain freeze and his head fall back to the mattress.  All conscious thought gets funnelled into not tangling his fingers too tightly in her hair, the rest of his mind lost in the sensations she’s creating, the light scrape of her teeth against his shaft, the swirl of her tongue around the head of his cock, the _suction_ as she bobs up and down, the gentle squeeze of her hand pumping where her mouth can’t reach.  His free hand fists in the duvet as the coiling in his abdomen tightens, he’s getting close--

She releases him with a pop, and he looks down at her, dazed, to find her grinning at him.

“Yeah,” she says.  “Very satisfying.”

With a growl, he reaches down, grasping her arm and hauling her up to kiss her hard, plunging his tongue into her mouth.  He’s aware of a crinkling sound to the side as she reaches out blindly, then she’s pushing him away with a hand on his chest.

“My turn,” she says, bringing her hand up to rip open the condom packet.


	2. Chapter 2

_“My turn,” she says, bringing her hand up to rip open the condom packet._  

Belle raises herself up, and he groans when she gives him a teasing grin and pumps his erection a couple of times before unrolling the latex onto it.  Then she’s guiding him to her entrance and sinking down on him, the wonders of gravity allowing him even deeper access than before.

“God, I love physics,” he mutters.

She tilts her head quizzically, giving him an uncertain smile.  “Sorry?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, moving his hands to her hips.  “Nothing just...god, Belle…”

She starts to move, her head falling back as she rides his cock, rolling her hips for added pleasure, and he lets out a long groan, his hands moving down her thighs and fingers tightening.  He was already close, and when she raises a hand to play with her breast, he’s not at all certain how long he’ll be able to hold out this time round.  He drags one hand in to her center, his thumb moving roughly over her clit, and she bites her lip with a moan.

“Oh, Mark,” she gasps.  “Mmm...yes, just like that…”

The visual, the feel of her, the breathy quality to her voice are all working against him, and he groans, his eyes sliding closed as his back arches.  Whatever control he had is disintegrating quickly, the tight coil in his abdomen ready to snap--

“ _Belle_!” he gasps, losing it completely when she grinds her hips down on him, hips bucking against her, and it’s enough to send her over again.  Her muscles clench around him as she shouts, and she rocks her hips while his hands tighten on her thighs with nearly bruising force as she rides out both their orgasms to the end.

She collapses then, completely boneless across his chest.  He raises one shaky hand to her hair, brushing it away from her damp forehead and pressing a kiss to her skin before dropping his hand again, too sated to move.  When he does finally to push her gently to the side, it's with a groan of regret at the immediate loss of her warmth around him.  He forces himself up and off the bed, tugging off the condom and tossing it in the bin as he heads for the loo.  He uses the toilet and slaps some water on his face and neck, returning to the room just as she manages to stand on rather shaky legs.  He stops her to claim a quick kiss before letting her pass and take care of her own needs, then reaches into the mini bar for a bottle of water, taking a drink as he pulls down the covers on the bed to slip beneath them.  Belle returns just as he's finishing rearranging the pillows to a reclining position, and he lays back to watch her.

"Sooo..." she says slowly, drawing out the word.  "Is this when I go back to my room and we resume our normal lives?"

"I sincerely hope not," he replies honestly, the idea of being Edward without Belle so soon making him cringe.  "The night's not over yet."

"Right."  She worries her lip for a brief moment before casting her eyes around and moving across the room.  She retrieves his shirt from the chair it had landed on and pulls it over her head, and he's momentarily stunned at how much better it looks on her.  She shrugs when she catches his look, misinterpreting it completely.  "Now I'm cold."

"Come here," he says, holding out a hand toward her in invitation.  She steps closer and takes his hand, letting him pull her onto his lap, and he releases her hand in favor of wrapping his own around her waist.  Her arms slide around his neck as she leans in to kiss him leisurely, without the passionate frenzy from before but no less heated, the difference between an inferno and steadily but inevitably burning coals.

His eyes roam over her face, committing every detail to memory before the forgone conclusion of their tryst, then looks away with an awkward clearing of his throat and reaches for the bottle he'd set on the bedside table.  He takes another drink, then hands it to her, and she accepts it with a grin.

"Sure you don't mind sharing?" she asks, even as she brings the bottle to her lips.

"All caught up on my cootie shots," he assures her, making her laugh between swallows.  "Although I may get a booster tomorrow. Better to be safe than sorry."

"Of course," she says, leaning over to set the bottle back down on the table.  Edward reaches out to pull back the covers beside him before urging her to the side and tucking them back around her.  He settles back onto the pillows, then pulls her into his arms and presses a kiss to her hair.  "And here I thought tonight was going to be devoted to debauchery," she comments, cuddling into him.

"Mmm, there's more ways to enjoy you, Belle, besides actually being inside you," he replies, his thumb moving in circles on her upper arm.  "Tell me something about you. Nothing that would give you away, of course, nothing about work.  Just tell me about you."

"What do you want to know?" she asks uncertainly.

"Hmm...well," he says, reaching out for the remote control, "we can start with your favorite types of films, and see if we get lucky."

He can feel her eyes on him, studying him, as he clicks on the television on the opposite wall.  "I bet you're the type who likes all those period pieces.  Pride and Prejudice. Jane Eyre."

"And what's wrong with that?" he asks, looking down at her with an arched eyebrow, and she giggles.  "I see no shame in enjoying the classics."

"I liked Pride and Prejudice," she offers with a smile.  "Nearly wore out my tape watching Colin Firth jump into that lake."

"Of course you did," he sighs, shaking his head.  "The whole thing is accurate to the book... then Colin bloody Firth jumps in a lake, and it's all anyone can remember."

"Don't be such a snob," she chides with a smile.  "That's exactly the sort of deviation from literature that we need in modern cinema."

He gives her doubtful hum.  "And I'll bet you're the type who just adores those vacuous romantic comedies, with all their predictable plots and saccharine sentimentality."

"Otherwise known as feel good films," she says with a laugh.  "God, you're so pretentious.  You probably pride yourself on your collection of Tchaikovsky and Chopin too."

"While you listen to the Spice Girls," he adds, lips twitching as he arches an eyebrow.  "We're probably opposite political parties as well."

Belle sighs heavily, shaking her head.  "It would seem the story of Mark and Belle is doomed before it even starts."

"Nonsense," he says, tightening his hold on her.  "Mark and Belle are one of those inexplicable couples with nothing in common, but still manage to be madly in love into their old age."

"Bit soon to say that, don't you think?" she asks, looking up at him.

"Why?  I can be whoever I want tonight.  Why not be someone irrevocably in love with a beautiful woman?  You don't seem difficult to fall for, after all."

"Don't be so sure," she warns, and he looks down at her.  He sees it again, that flicker of vulnerability that only serves to cement his hypothesis.

"Mark is," he says, looking back at the television and scrolling through the menu.  "And trust me, he's not someone you want to argue with.  But, returning to my first point...it would appear I’m out of luck, and you, my dear Belle...have hit the jackpot,” he adds, making a face and scrolling through the romantic comedies.  He hands her the remote with a sigh, and she laughs as she picks one, seemingly at random, then snuggles tighter against him, her head on his chest.

Edward’s mind starts to wander almost immediately, fidgeting until he’s got one hand behind his head and his other tracing patterns on her waist.  His thoughts drift once again to his meeting in the morning, with a small voice in his head piping up that spending the night with a virtual stranger is the _last_ thing he should be doing right now, but as he leans down and presses a kiss to her hair, he has a hard time even pretending to be sorry.  However, when he feels her body tense slowly and steadily during the first twenty minutes of the film, he’s reminded that he’s not the only one with a life to return to, where their actions, if discovered, might be scrutinized and judged, however unfairly.

“Don’t think about it,” he says softly, and she looks up at him.  “Tonight, you’re Belle.  No meetings, no phone calls, no boss breathing down your neck.  Just Belle, and Mark.  Let tomorrow worry about itself.”

When she leans up to kiss him, he moves his hand from behind his head to cup her cheek.  He shifts, holding her neck as he turns them to lean over her, deepening the kiss--then freezes when her stomach growls.

“My, my,” he says, pulling back with a grin.  “Have you worked up an appetite, Belle?”

She presses her lips together, looking torn between laughing and embarrassment.  “Possibly…”

“Well, you do know what that means, don’t you?” he asks, tracing a finger over her jaw.  She shakes her head, dropping her gaze a little.  “Room service!”

Belle laughs as he spins away from her, reaching for the bedside table to grab the room service menu.  He wraps his arm around her when she scoots closer to peer at the menu, biting her lip and wrapping her hands up in the sleeves of the shirt she’d commandeered from him as she bites at her thumbnail.  He’s distracted for a moment at the way the body language and tousled, just fucked hair work to make her look simultaneously adorable and sexy beyond reason.

“What’re thinking of?” she asks, looking up at him, and he shakes himself, looking back down at the menu.

“Oh...I don’t know.  Anything strike your fancy?”

“At this point?  Everything.”

They do manage to narrow it down a bit, settling on a variety of finger foods and sandwiches and a bottle of champagne, although they do end up ordering nearly the entire dessert menu; Belle, Edward discovers, is a bit of a junk food junkie.  They watch a bit more of the film while they wait--or rather, Belle watches while Edward ridicules it and is roundly ignored.  At the knock on the door, he pulls on his boxers, a little regretfully, before answering the door and arching an eyebrow and the two trolleys rolling in.

“That’s all your desserts, you know,” he says, nodding at the second one.

“Yup,” she replies with an unapologetic grin, and he shakes his head with a laugh.

Although Belle does manage to get down some real food, it’s not long before they’re both inspecting the sugary confections that have been delivered, taste testing all of them and occasionally feeding a bite to each other if something is particularly satisfying.

“Oh, you must try this one,” he moans around a mouthful of something that tastes like chocolate and cherries and sin.  “I think it’s my favorite.”

“You said that about the last one,” she reminds him.

“And it was true,” he replies, scooping a bit of the current favorite onto his fork.  “That was my favorite, until I tried this.  You’ll agree, trust me.”  She rolls her eyes, chuckling a little, before obligingly opening her mouth, then groaning at the taste.  The sound makes Edward’s breath hitch and a shiver run down his spine, and his voice is a shade husky when he says, “There, you see?”

“I’ll never doubt you again,” she promises.

“See that you don’t.”

He leans in to kiss her, still tasting like cherries and champagne, and he quickly decides that _this_ is his favorite, more satisfying than anything the chefs in the hotel kitchens could possibly dream up.

They turn out the lights and attempt another film when they’re full to bursting, but end up talking through most of it.  Between caresses and kisses, she tells him of how she’d once planned to be an artist, maybe a painter or photographer, and he tells her about how he still wants to travel, see all the wonders the world has to offer, view the stars from every angle of the globe.  She laughs when she tells the story of her first boyfriend, some musician who had her starstruck enough to leave school, and the disaster it had turned into--but again, there’s that hint of vulnerability, the crack in her armor that shows a scar that she’d rather forget but can’t quite manage.  It’s as endearing as it is heartbreaking, and he holds her tighter as he kisses her, reminding her of now, how beautiful and amazing she is, regardless of what some git thought ten years ago.  He shares a ghost of his own, the girl who’d broken his heart when she’d broken their engagement and sent him fleeing London to begin with, smiling when Belle shakes her head and claims the girl’s loss is her gain before trailing her lips down his neck.

They start talking about ridiculous things after that, in an effort to leave the phantoms behind, grade school nonsense and trials of early adulthood, all the growing pains that one can’t help but laugh at later.

“I broke that arm when I was seven,” she remarks as his fingers trail across her right forearm, and he looks up at her with a brow arched in question.  She rolls her eyes and laughs.  “Yeah, I fancied myself as _quite_ the gymnast after getting the bronze in under-sevens, and decided I could tightwalk a fence.  Spoilers: I can’t.”

He lets out a laugh, then leans down to kiss her arm lightly.  “Mmm, at least you had the benefit of being seven.  My stupidest injury was entirely my own doing.  Well, me, my favorite school enemy, and a bottle of really awful scotch someone stole from their dad.”

“Oh, god, I’ve got to hear this one,” she says, flashing a tongue-touched grin.

“It was late, we were all very drunk, and someone brought up the fact that we were constantly battling for the title of best fencer,” he explains with a sigh.  “So, of course, I had to defend my honor.”

“Of course,” she replies.

“So we snuck into the gymnasium, got out the fencing equipment, but decided that the protective gear was completely superfluous to fencers of our talent,” he goes on, shaking his head at the whole absurd scenario that only sounds good when one’s pissed and seventeen and certain of nothing but one’s own immortality.  “Long story short, protective gear is never superfluous, but I did find out that my mortal enemy at the time faints at the sight of blood.”

“Not a good quality in a fencer,” she replies with a laugh.

“Not particularly,” he agrees.  “Although I do wish it hadn’t been _my_ blood he’d fainted at.”

Her brows furrow a little in concern.  “Were you badly hurt?”

“No, not really,” he assures her, his thumb smoothing out the crease in her forehead.  “Although I did milk it for all it was worth, and it did leave a scar.”

He lowers his hand, tugging the waistband of his boxers down an inch to reveal the thin scar across his hip.  She laughs then, with an expression of intense bemusement.

“Sorry, but why your _hip_?”

“Well, I’m fairly certain he was aiming higher,” he explains with a shrug.  “But, as I said, we were very, _very_ drunk.”

“Right,” she says, laughing again.  She bites her lip, then leans down and kisses the scar, making him draw a sharp breath as his hand moves to her hair.  When she raises her head again, he pulls her higher before pressing her into the mattress and kissing her soundly.

The credits of the film get lost in their pants and moans, their fingers twined as their bodies move together, pushing each other to the edge again.  He buries his face in her neck when he comes, just after her, wishing he knew her name, wishing he’d given her his, but most of all wishing the sun would just take the day off and grant him a few more hours with her in his arms.

He’s startled awake a few hours later by the harsh ring of the telephone on the nightstand.  Belle making an annoyed, sleepy sound, burrowing deeper into the covers and his side as he opens an eye to peer at it blearily before reaching to pick it up.

“H’lo?”

“Mister Shipton, this is you’re six am wake up call,” a friendly female voice informs him, one that’s _far_ too cheerful for this early in the morning.  “Would you like me to call back in ten minutes?”

“Mmm, no, it’s fine,” he says, his voice rough from sleep and...other things.  “Thank you.”

He drops the phone back on the cradle and slips his arm back around Belle, kissing her head as his hand moves lazily over her naked back.

“Morning,” she murmurs.

“Apparently,” he sighs.  He opens his eyes, looking down at her as he raises his hand to run his fingers over her cheek and jaw.  The night is over, he should let her go, so they can both return to their real lives, but…  “When’s your first meeting?”

“Not for a few hours,” she replies, almost in a whisper, almost as if she doesn’t want to leave any more than he wants her to go.

“Good.  Come on.”

He disentangles himself from her with some difficulty, then stands, holding out a hand to pull her up and leading her to the loo.  He takes a swig from a bottle of mouthwash on the counter and hands it to her, and they both swish before spitting into the sink and rinsing their mouths.  As soon as that’s done, Edward presses Belle to the counter, kissing her hungrily.  They might have to part soon, but he’ll be damned if he misses out on any of his last precious bit of time with her.

Eventually, he steps away from her, turning on the shower and pulling her inside with him.  He kisses her again beneath the warm spray while his hands run down her spine.

“Have I mentioned how glad I am that I met you?” he asks, pushing the damp locks from her face as he raises his head to look at her.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” she admits with a smile.

“Mmm...how about how thankful I am that you stayed with me?” he asks, dipping his head to kiss her neck.

“Oh...not sure, could use a reminder,” she says, and he chuckles against her skin at the smile in her voice.

“Then allow me to show my gratitude,” he murmurs, moving his lips up to her ear as his hand finds her breast.

She lets out a hiss when he backs her against the cool tile, but groans when he pushes a leg between hers, grinding his hardening cock against her hip.  Her pelvis rocks against his thigh when he captures her lips again, and her fingers tangle themselves in his hair.  She tugs on it a moment later, pulling his head back to kiss his neck, and he breathes her name as he grinds against her again.  He lets out a growl and pulls back to kiss his way down her chest and belly, pausing briefly to press his lips to the purple mark he’d left hours ago before kneeling and pulling one of her legs over his shoulder.  He kisses her damp curls lightly before stroking her gently with his finger, staying aware of her probable soreness as he slowly slides two fingers inside of her and flicks her clit with his tongue.  He’s rewarded with another intoxicating groan, spurring on his tender ministrations, before she’s tugging him away again a moment later.

“Need you,” she gasps, looking down at him with dark eyes.  “Please, I need you inside me.”

“Your wish is my command,” he says with a grin, opening the shower door to grab the condom that he’d picked up on the way to the loo.  He rolls it on his now full erection, then kisses her again before hoisting her up in his arms, giving silent thanks to the hotel and their ideas about slip resistant shower floors as she wraps her legs around his waist.  He presses her against the wall, one arm under hers to support her weight and brace him, while his other hand slips between them to guide himself into her.  They both let out a moan as he sinks into her, and her head falls forward to his shoulder as he starts to move.  He tries to go slowly, to savor it, but she feels amazing, and when she starts murmuring in his ear, words like _harder_ and _faster_ interspersed between curses and cries of his name, he knows he’s doomed.

One hand moves to her thigh, fingers digging into her supple flesh as pounds into her, the control she’d so complimented him on last night having been shattered completely by her since.  The grip of her arms around his neck tightens when he moves his other hand between them, fingers moving roughly over her clit.

“Fuck, Belle,” he grunts.  “Come on, come for me, one more time sweetheart, want to feel you shatter around me….god, Belle…”

She bites his shoulder as she comes, muffling her moan and ripping another curse from his throat as he thrusts into her once, twice more and snaps, stars erupting as he empties himself inside her.  He manages to keep hold of her for another minute, rocking his hips against, then slips out of her as he lowers her to the floor.  He braces himself with a forearm on the wall next to her head, his other hand on her waist and his forehead against hers as he catches his breath.  He kisses her gently when his head stops swimming, stepping back with a heated look as he tugs off the condom, stepping outside the steamy shower to drop it in the bin next to the toilet before hurrying back into the warmth of the spray.

She bites her lip when he turns to her, her hand moving to his shoulder, and he looks down to see a very...defined mark from her teeth.

“Sorry,” she says, her thumb moving over the spot gently.

“I’m not,” he says honestly.  Really, at this point, he’ll take any mark she chooses to leave, if only to serve as evidence for a few more days that the past ten hours or so really did occur, that she really was here with him.  “It’s not as if anyone will see it.”

“Right,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips as he reaches for his shampoo.  “Wouldn’t want Mark and Belle to land you in any trouble.”

“Won’t come to that,” he replies, reaching up to work the shampoo through his hair.  “Even if it did, it’s worth it.”

“Despite the terrible films?” she asks, trading places under the spray to let him rinse while she lathers her own hair.  “Although, I don’t really know if you should count those, as you couldn’t have been paying attention since you never stop _talking_.”

“I don’t know that _talking_ was the only hindrance to my focus,” he comments, arching a brow as they dance around each other again, and he raises his hands to rinse her hair, massaging her scalp gently.  “And I wasn’t the only one talking last night...or not talking.”

“Suppose not,” she admits, opening her eyes as he pulls her out from under the spray, and he dips his head to kiss her.

They finish washing up, and his stomach starts sinking as he wishes he could slow down time.  Of course, as is usually the case, this only seems to speed it up, and it seems like no time at all before she’s back in her dress from the night before.  On impulse, he slips his shirt over her arms so it hangs atop her dress, claiming that it will guard her against the chill of the air conditioning as she heads back to her room.

“When do you leave town?” he asks, not that it really matters, because he’s supposed to drive back to LA this afternoon.

“Tonight,” she tells him, and the hint of regret in the tone can’t possibly be just his imagination.

He walks her to the door, her heels dangling from one of her hands, then pauses, looking down at her.  The questions he can’t ask are nearly strangling him, but it’s for the best, he knows it is, or at least tells himself so.  One night, free of responsibility and real life, that’s what had made it so magical.

He swallows hard and leans down to kiss her, angling his head and sliding his tongue along hers when she opens her mouth.  His arm slides around her waist as he dips her back slightly, intent to make this kiss worth remembering if it’s going to be their last.  They’re both a little breathless when he finally releases her, raising a hand to her cheek and running a thumb over her slightly swollen bottom lip.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mark,” she says, her hand on his chest.

“The pleasure was all mine, Belle,” he assures her, his voice hoarse as he steps back to open the door for her.  “Take care.”

“You too,” she says, frowning a little and looking like she wants to say something else, then closing her mouth and looking away as she ducks into the hall.

He’s still for a moment, not able to close the door, but not able to follow her either.  It’s not until he hears the ding of the lift that he finally lets the door fall closed, telling himself that it’s only his imaginary counterpart that could be foolish enough to fall in love in one night.

oOoOo

Rose Tyler sits back in her desk chair, tilting her head to stretch her neck and trying not to think of the male fingers working out the knots last night.  It's not even nine thirty, and she’s already exhausted.  As soon as she came in, there were fires to be put out back in London, some PR disaster that was exactly the sort of thing her father had sent her to the States for.  She’d managed calm everything down, but now all she wants is for this meeting to be over and be able to go home.  Between jet lag and the incredibly late night, she’s not sure if she wants to cry or nap.  Or both.

Her mind wanders yet again to Mark as she lets her head fall back on the chair, and she lets it, tired of fighting it.  It’s insane, what she’d done, but it had felt _so good_ to let all her defenses down for a night...nevermind the amazing sex.  That’s...definitely a point of interest, but it’s tied with the hours in between, when they’d failed to watch a couple of films she really did like, when they’d talked and shared and cuddled.  He’d seemed genuinely interested in her and what she had to say, not to mention making her feel sexier than she ever had in her life.

With a groan, she forces the memories away.  She’s never going to see him again, and there’s another man that she’s got to focus on now.  Vitex had bought out the company he’d worked for, and Rose’s father had a policy of gently but firmly ushering top execs of bought companies out the door to avoid questions of authority, but apparently this one was too valuable to lose.  He’d been making a name for himself as a marketing genius for the last decade, and had doubtless received other offers since the buyout, so Rose was tasked with wooing him while still somehow maintaining the illusion that it didn’t really matter to Pete one way or the other.

And people claim politics is dirty.

To add to her stress, this Edward Shipton came with a reputation of astounding charisma and confidence, which was a great asset to his career, but also likely made it difficult to work with him.  She’d heard that he’d literally charmed the pants off of more than one female adversary, and the thought of coming to reasonable terms with him made Rose want to bang her head on the desk.  She’d worked with the type often enough to guess how it would go; he’d sweep in, all charm and smiles and patronizing tones, probably calling her “little lady” and giving her insane demands on an offer she hadn’t even wanted to extend.  Probably remark on the stiffness she always had in business dealings, as if she had any other option than to be harsh to receive any respect, between her age and gender and relation to her boss.  Hell, that would probably get mentioned too.  And he’d still get the job, and swagger out even more cocky than before, because he’d know he’s too valuable to let go.

With that thought, she drops her head to the desk, thinking once again that she’s better off living in a yurt somewhere than talking to people ever again.

“Miss Tyler?” Jonathan, the boy assigned to assist her while in Vegas, asks uncertainly, poking his head into the office.  “Um.  Mister Shipton is here to see you.  He apologized for being early.”

“Of course he did,” she sighs, lifting her head reluctantly and getting to her feet.  Standard protocol for people like him...show up early to throw people off from the gate.  “Send him in.”

She grabs the file on Shipton, leaning on the desk as she opens it to peer at it.  Decent career trajectory, always managing to be a bit more highly ranked with every corporate reshuffle or job change, and plenty of successful campaigns to his credit.  It’s really no wonder that Dad wants to keep him, but still--

“Miss Tyler?” Jonathan’s voice cuts into her thoughts again, and she looks up.  “Mister Shipton.”

She freezes the second he enters the room, unable to keep her mouth from falling open a little.  He’s far more put together than when she’d seen him last...but then, he’d only been wearing a hotel robe when she’d seen him last, hair still damp from the shower.  Now he’s clean shaven and wearing a suit, but it doesn’t change who he is.

 _Mark_.

She looks down hurriedly, her eyes burning as she stares at the page in front of her.  She should have known he wasn’t American, it even said on his CV that he went to Cambridge, but plenty of people went to University in England who weren’t actually _from_ England.  Which meant he probably knew who she was the minute she stepped into that bar last night, and that everything that followed was a strategic maneuver to compromise her position and integrity.

_“So, do you do this often?”_

_“Never.”_

She’d believed him.  Every word, every moment of false sincerity, she’d fallen for it, even despite the fact that the whole thing had been based on them giving fake names and pretending they were other people for a night.  It had almost felt like...she’d almost thought...but it was insane.  Of course it was.

 _Stupid girl_ , she thinks angrily.  _Pull yourself together._

“Thank you...Jonathan, was it?” Mark--Edward asks.  “Right, thank you.  I think we can probably take it from here.”

She takes a deep breath as the door shuts, stiffening her spine and raising her eyes to him once more.  His back remains to her for a moment, shoulders stiff and head bowed, before he finally turns to her.

“Miss Tyler--”

“Did you know?” she demands, needing to hear it, needing him to say it.

“No,” he says, dropping his briefcase to the floor and taking a step toward her.  “I know how this must look, but I swear to you, I had no idea who you were.”

“Then why did you do it?” she asks, now completely confused.  At least ulterior motives gave some sort of explanation for it, the one she’d been subconsciously looking for from the start.

“Because you’re gorgeous and interesting to talk to,” he replies, frowning.  “Because I enjoyed every moment of our time together, even when you were calling me pretentious and making me watch terrible films.  Belle--”

“Rose,” she cuts in automatically, staring at him as he takes another step toward her, then stops at the name.

“Right.”  He watches her a moment, his face softening a little.  “Fitting.”

“You said the same thing about Belle,” she reminds him.

“They both suit you,” he tells her, then sighs, lowering his gaze and shaking his head.  “I’m sorry.  This...was never my intention.”

“Do you regret it?” she asks, eyes narrowing him as she studies him.

“No,” he answer quickly, eyes snapping up hers again.  “Not one second.  I only regret the position it puts you in, and--”  He stops, swallowing hard.  “Nevermind.  I don’t regret last night.  Do you?”

“No,” she finds herself saying.  There’s a moment of charged tension between them, neither wanting to take another step, before she shakes herself and looks down.  She stares at the list of things she’s willing to put on the table in order to bring him to London, but in her mind, it’s superimposed with his face as he told her about his reasons for leaving, his ex-fiance and buried parents, and she slides her eyes closed.  Never, ever mix business and pleasure.  “I can’t do this,” she says, even as she asks herself why it’s such an issue if it was only one night of sex.

_Because it wasn’t._

“I understand,” he says quietly.  “Feel free to tell your father that I was simply...difficult, demanding things you couldn’t possibly offer.”

“What?” she asks, frowning as she looks up at him.

“Even if you don’t regret it, you have every reason not to want to work with me,” he explains.  “I know why I was called here, I know why they sent you--”

“You said you didn’t know who I was.”

“I know your reputation, Miss Tyler,” he says, his lips twitching.  “You’re a woman who gets what she wants, and tolerates no nonsense.  This...is the opposite of that.  Although, I will say, I expected you to be older, and not nearly so...friendly.”

“You know you’ve got a reputation too,” she replies, and his eyebrow quirks up in question.  “Smooth and attractive, charming your way into beds to make a deal.”

He snorts, and she raises her eyebrows.  “Rumors of my prowess are greatly exaggerated.”

“Oh, I dunno,” she says, and his eyes widen.  “Didn’t seem so bad.”  He smirks at her, and she sighs, resting a hand on the desk as the other runs through her hair.  “Look, I’m supposed to be convincing you to take a job in London at the Vitex home office--”

“I gathered,” he cuts in.

“--and I’ve got several offers I can extend, including moving expenses and a lucrative salary,” she continues, ignoring the interruption, then pauses.  “But I’ll understand if you don’t take it.”

“If I don’t--you said _you_ couldn’t do this,” he says, frowning again.

“I know why you left,” she explains with a shrug.  “I can’t expect you to want to go back, not when I’m sure you could find a job a number of other places here.”

“Miss Tyler, may I ask you a question?”  She nods, confused.  “If you hadn’t spent last night with me, if you’d come by that information in some other way before meeting me, what would you have done?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I don’t believe you’d be nearly so accommodating for a stranger,” he explains slowly, walking toward her again.  “Especially someone of my not inconsiderable skill, someone your father was bent on seeing employed.  Would you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, taking a step back as he rounds the desk.  “Maybe not.  Does it matter?”

“Oh, Miss Tyler, it matters a great deal,” he says.  “Because do you know what my only other regret about last night is?”  She shakes her head, her breath hitching.  “That I let you walk away without finding out who you are.  One night with you could never possibly be enough.”  He backs off, leaving her blinking in confusion at the sudden absence as he walks around the desk and drops into a chair in front of it, kicking his feet up on the desk and crossing them at the ankles.  He rests his elbows on the armrests and steeples his fingers in front of him.  “Now, shall we talk about these lucrative offers you’re so generously willing to offer?”

She shakes her head, making her way to the desk chair on slightly wobbly legs before sitting down and taking a deep breath.  “Well, as I said, moving costs, as well as a temporary housing allowance to cover any upfront costs and fees of a new residence.  A competitive salary that’s a step above what you last employer was giving you, as well as better than most offers you’ll find on the market.”

“Stock options?  Vacation?  Corner office, time shares?  Come on, Miss Tyler, really sell it!”

She opens her mouth, then leans forward on her arms.  “What are you doing?”

He smirks at her.  “I’m taking the job, Miss Tyler.  If we’re talking about reputations, your father has one of the best when it comes to employers.  Even those he shuffles out the door can’t speak highly enough of him, not after his astonishing severance packages and glowing recommendations.  But, possibly more importantly...there’s you.”  Rose frowns at him, and he shrugs.  “Like I said, one night could never possibly be enough.”

“You were going to walk away,” she says, trying to understand what’s happening.

“Yes, I was,” he admits.  “When I thought you didn’t want me there.  Do you?”

Rose stares at him, her mind whirring.  She just met him yesterday.  She didn’t even know his proper name until this morning.  She knows, logically, that it shouldn’t really matter, no matter what had happened the night before.

“This is insane,” she says finally, and he sits up straighter, dropping his feet to the floor and wrapping his hands around the armrests of the chair.  “We just met...at a hotel bar, no less!  It was just supposed to be a night where we could...cut loose.  It should have been just...sex.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” he asks.

“No,” she says, staring at him for a beat before shaking her head.  “But look, that shouldn’t factor into your decision to move to another country for a job, especially not back to a country you _left_ to begin with!”

“It doesn’t!” he replies quickly.  “Not really.  I was seriously considering the job regardless, so long as that’s what I was being offered, rather than one of Peter Tyler’s infamous severance packages that could feed a small country.  But it does help.”  She shakes her head again, and he leans forward.  “Rose, I’m not expecting anything.  Honestly.  We could...start off the way normal people do, I could take you to dinner and try to impress you and pretend I’m not the lunatic I _clearly_ am, have you back home at nine o’clock with a peck on the cheek and the promise to call you, and we could both sweat for a week before I do, but what I want, what I _really_ want to do...is kiss you.”

She stares at him, trying to maintain some semblance of reason, then gives up completely, shaking her head and letting her tongue poke out between her teeth as she smiles.  “So do it then.”

Like lightning, he’s up from his chair and around the desk, spinning her chair around and pulling her to her feet.  Her arms go around his neck as he leans in to kiss her, and she lets out a sigh when she feels his hands on her waist, pulling her closer.  They’re both panting a little when he finally pulls away, face still inches from hers.

“I think I’m going to enjoy working with you, Miss Tyler,” he says.

She throws her head back and laughs, before looking back at him.  “ _Ever_ the optimist.”

“But of course,” he says, leaning in again.  “Because you never know when something might be waiting just around the corner.”

“Even if you lose your shirt?” she says, parroting his sentiments from last night.

“In this case, I think you’ll find that _that_ only sweetens the deal,” he says with a grin, then presses his lips to hers again.


End file.
